


we see them through a mirror

by Serindrana



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:50:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serindrana/pseuds/Serindrana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My half of an art and writing trade with fabelschwester on tumblr! Fabel wanted Corvo and Emily's relationship as seen by other people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we see them through a mirror

**SAMUEL BEECHWORTH**

The river was quiet beneath the boat, the surface only whispering as the prow of Samuel's dinghy cut through the gentle rolling of the water. This close to Clavering, the chokeweed and the hagfish were minimal, and he couldn't make out the bobbing shadows or the rising pale spheres that meant there were bodies down below. The surface glowed golden in places from the setting sun, and there was the slightest hint of rain on the wind.

All in all, it was a pleasant evening. Not so pleasant as being on the open water, out at sea during good weather, but as pleasant as the Wrenhaven could manage, especially in these dark times.

"Take off the mask!"

Samuel quirked a brow but didn't turn around. Master Corvo and the little Empress were just behind him, and wasn't that a marvel? Taking an Empress for a turn on the river. Wasn't the right vessel for her, though.

" _Corvo_ ," the girl said, and stomped her foot, sending the boat swaying side to side.

That made Samuel glance over his shoulder. Emily was sitting up tall on a box of supplies, feet reaching the belly of the boat with just enough slack that she could stamp a right fury. "Begging your pardon, miss, but try not to do that? Might capsize the boat. It's not a good night for a swim."

"Oh, right. Sorry." She flashed him a smile that seemed very bright for a girl newly out of captivity, but he didn't have much experience with the matter. He supposed it might be something like getting back out after the whales, after spending a year or two on land with a chest complaint and a broken leg. _That_ had been a sensation.

He watched as little Emily Kaldwin turned back to the masked assassin crouched in the stern of the boat, who looked between her and the river all around him, unable to relax.

"I don't think he's going to talk until we're back at shore, and that's just the way he is," Samuel said. "And you might want to get down a little lower, and wrap your cloak tighter. Don't want anybody seeing you on the way, I don't think."

Emily pursed her lips, and looked as if she were about to stamp again, but instead she just slid down into the bottom of the boat and scooted until she was leaning against Corvo's legs. The man settled his hand - the unmarked one - on her shoulder, and that seemed to be enough. The girl smiled and began tugging at the lace of her clothing, counting scallops and dots and bows. Her clothing was pure white, and while they'd hidden it the best they could under a dark wool cloak, when she moved the heavy fabric would part and reveal the shining beacon that she was, unmarred even by months spent in the Golden Cat.

She was really something. Fit for an Empress, she was.

* * *

 

**LYDIA BROOKLAINE**

The girl was a right terror, she was.

She'd run away from her lessons in the pub and go climbing and building. She'd get into the muck and the mud and the refuse, just like Lydia's nephew, and then it'd be up to her and Cecelia to clean up the tracks and the scuffs and her pretty white clothing. They ran out of bleach in the first two days.

But Overseer Martin had been very clear: they were to leave the little miss alone unless it was a matter of life and death. And Mr. Corvo had been very clear as well: do anything less than love the little voidling, and there was no chance of a kind look from _those_ hard eyes.

Cecelia had disappeared somewhere, and so Lydia bent over the bar and scrubbed. Admiral Havelock had never said as much, but he liked seeing the Hound Pits gleaming like it was still in business. She polished the wood and the glass and dusted off the bottles, and tried to ignore the pounding of little feet on the stairs that was setting her headache throbbing.

Mr. Corvo would be back soon from wherever the men had sent him off to, and he'd distract her for a while, set her straight.

She was crouched down to restock the tins of hagfish and cans of eel when she heard the lightest scuff of a shoe on the floor, not a foot behind her. She swore and straightened up, smacking her head into the top of the shelf.

Turning, she found Emily Kaldwin watching her, hands behind her back, rocking back and forth on her heels with the biggest smile she'd seen from her.

"Did I scare you? Huh?"

"You did, yes," Lydia said, rubbing at the back of her head. "Don't go doing that while we're working, Miss Emily."

"Why not? Corvo does it to people when _they're_ working."

 _Yes, and then he probably slits their throats or some other terrible thing, with those fine hands of his_.

"I don't think he'd like you following after him," Lydia said, standing up, hoping her height would remind the girl that she was a child, and Lydia was an adult, and there was some respect due there even from an empress.

From the way Emily just canted her head, Lydia was fairly sure it'd had no effect. "Maybe not. After all, I'm the Empress. Empress's can't go sneaking around, I don't think."

"Just so, Miss Emily."

The girl pursed her lips. "Still," she said, "I think he'll be impressed!"

And then she was off like a shot, no doubt searching for another hapless victim.

 

* * *

 

**CALLISTA CURNOW**

She was the one to comfort Emily when her barriers broke down and all the grief and anger and fear came rushing back in.

At first, Callista thought it was only because she was _there_. Corvo was out at all hours of the day and night doing his dark work, and when he came home, he was often not _home_. He slept or climbed to the highest part of the tower and stared out at the sea. By contrast, Callista was always there. She was there when Emily woke up in the morning, there when she went to sleep, and there when the nightmares roused her screaming and sobbing. Callista was the one to dry her eyes. Callista was the one to pat her back. Callista was the one to listen.

But the longer she watched the two of them together, assassin and kidnapped girl, protector and empress's daughter, the more she thought she understood. When Emily was with him, she was all joy and light and laughter. They played silly children's games that Emily would never play with her. Corvo smiled and took his time finding her hiding spots, so Emily could jump out in triumph behind him. Corvo brought her apricot tarts. Corvo held her hand as if he never wanted to let go.

And Emily could see the pain and worry in his eyes, and she didn't want to make it worse, and so she only smiled.

One night, while Corvo was off at the Boyle estate, stalking death at a masked ball, Callista tucked Emily into bed and reached for one of the dolls Corvo has brought her.

Emily shook her head.

"Why not?" Callista asked, even as she returned it to its spot and took up her vigil's seat between their beds again.

"Corvo's not going to be back until morning, right?" she asked in a small voice.

"Probably," Callista said, and fought the urge to smooth back Emily's hair from her forehead. She was not the girl's mother - something Emily had made very clear through tantrums and haughty comments and the way they both knew, deep down, that nobody could ever truly replace somebody who had died.

"Then I don't want it."

Callista looked at the doll, with its nicely brushed hair, its ironed dress. Emily and Corvo had played with it together, in the hours between when he'd brought Sokolov back unconscious in Samuel's boat and when he'd been called to the fighting pits for the interrogation. She'd seemed happy then.

"Only children need dolls," Emily whispered, as if she didn't want Callista to hear.

Her heart ached.

To Corvo, Emily was a child. But she was a child who consciously took up the burden of being a happy little jumping thing, and who buried all of a child's misery and suffering, because that was the child that Corvo needed her to be. Here, in this room, the balance tilted the other way.

 

* * *

 

**TREAVOR PENDLETON**

Waverly Boyle was dead. The thought sat uneasy in his stomach, mixing up the good whiskey and the Tyvian red already there. Waverly Boyle was dead, and so were his brothers, and little Emily Kaldwin was _shrieking_.

It was somebody else's problem. Maybe he should send Wallace. And Corvo was around, he'd be there in an instant.

He glared at the window. It was far too early to retire to bed, but he felt ready to heave. Maybe some fresh air would do him good. Downstairs, Farley and Teague would probably be talking logistics. Upstairs, Emily Kaldwin continued shouting.

Duty either way he went. Screw them all.

With a groan, he heaved himself up from the edge of his bed and made his way unsteadily to the hall. He looked at the stairs. Emily had finally gone quiet. Hopefully, that meant whatever was wrong was fixed. Or she was as dead as the rest.

He trudged up the stairs. Just a quick pop by that open door that led over to the tower (and that had its benefits, it was far enough up and away from the river that it wouldn't _reek_ ), and then he'd stroll back down and maybe call for Wallace to get him some bread. Then he'd keep working on his memoirs. He'd just skip ahead a little, past the bits about the Boyle women. He'd have time to finish those later.

Halfway up the stairs, he realized something was wrong. Not the blood-curdling death kind of wrong, but the sort of wrong that came with... streamers and confetti. He frowned, toeing at the mess on the steps. Glitter? Where had that come from? And that, that looked like streamers that Lydia Boyle would've picked out, he could see the design elements she liked so much, then ornate grotesques decorating the crepe.

He reached the landing and stared.

All around were rat lights and lanterns and streamers, and he could see a low table set out with wine - no, just grape juice - and little tarts. Corvo sat near it, facing away from him, his coat and weapons set well aside.

Treavor watched as, from out of the side room, Emily Kaldwin danced in wearing a shirt made of ruffles and an elaborate mask made from papier mâché and kingsparrow features and copper wire. She twirled and jumped and giggled and curtsied, and in one effortless motion, Corvo stood up and swept her into his arms, spinning her 'round and 'round and 'round.

He had a little mask of fabric across his eyes, with little slits cut so he could see, and the man smiled.

Treavor retreated before he was seen, frowning and trying to make sense of it all. 

 

* * *

 

**TEAGUE MARTIN**

"Corvo?"

Martin went rigid. The night was shadowy and Samuel's boat was already too far out to be seen, but the last person he wanted to see now was Emily. It was too soon. Callista should have been distracting her.

He turned and smiled, crouched down to talk to her. She was a pale little ghost in the gloaming. "No, I'm afraid he's not with us right now. Are you looking for him?"

She stared at him, and he could tell she knew something was wrong. He took the lack of screaming and flying fists as a sign that she didn't know what, yet. "He said he'd be right back. He said we'd dance tonight. He went up to his room, but I've looked there, and he's not there now." Her little brow furrowed.

"I'm sure he's around here somewhere," Martin said, ignoring the awkward shifting of Havelock and Treavor behind him. They could damn well keep their mouths shut. "Do you want me to help you look? You shouldn't be out alone at night, you know."

"He wouldn't leave me," Emily said.

"No, of course not."

"So where is he?"

 _She knows something's wrong_. How long could they keep her distracted? How long could they keep her pliant? How soon before they'd have to threaten her, drag her away screaming? They had made a miscalculation.

They should have kept them separate.

They should have taught her that Corvo was a monster, not a father.

* * *

 

**FARLEY HAVELOCK**

He didn't know what to do with a crying child.

That was why he locked the door. It wasn't that she frightened him, that she made him uneasy with all the anger and the grief and the determination he could read in her small frame. It wasn't how Treavor fretted over what they had done, or how Martin kept mumbling to himself that he'd miscalculated, that they'd messed up.

Besides, she needed the privacy. The last thing she needed was a big empty lighthouse with the three men she least wanted to see. That she blamed them for Corvo's unfortunate death was unavoidable. She was not a stupid girl (so much more the pity). But time would soothe her, as it had with her mother's death, and soon she would focus in on what was important.

She was an Empress. They would make it so.

Martin cleared his throat in the doorway. "They've found a body, Farley."

He closed his eyes and took a long drag on his cigar, hissed the smoke out through his teeth. "Any chance it's fighting between the men?"

"No. Nobody heard a thing. And he was right by one of the access points."

Havelock considered, then tapped ash into the enameled dish. It wasn't a total surprise; word had come from the Hound Pits that the whole patrol there had been found confused and missing time, and that Callista Curnow had left her prison in the tower. Piero and Sokolov had vanished along with her. Even working together, those three couldn't have managed it.

Behind a locked door, Emily sang to Attano like a siren.

The thought briefly flitted through his head that he might kill her. Attano would want vengeance, but perhaps his loss of purpose would take him first. But it was a foolish idea, made all the more obvious by the fact that Martin didn't say it, either.

Havelock looked over his shoulder.

"Get Pendleton," he said. "And let's talk strategy."

 

* * *

 

**CORVO ATTANO**

He didn't let go of Emily until they were safe for the night. In the morning, he'd take her home. In the morning, she would be Empress. In the morning, he'd be Royal Protector again and everything would change once more.

For now, though, he was only the father of a tired and scared and hopeful little girl, who had cried on his shoulder for the first time since her mother had died that day, who had told him she was frightened, who had asked him to never leave.

He held her hand until she fell asleep.


End file.
